The 40th Annual Hunger Games
by KittyCat84
Summary: 12 districts. 24 tributes. 24 perspectives. The 40th Annual Hunger Games are about to begin.
1. Chapter 1: The Reapings

**A/N: Hello! I've always loved stories that follow all 24 perspectives of the tributes in the Hunger Games, and I was inspired to write one myself. This story will cover all 24 tributes perspectives throughout the game. If you decide to keep reading, I hope you enjoy!**

—

**Viveca Lordsmith, 16, District 9**

On any other day I'd have been up for hours by now. Since I turned thirteen it's been the same routine; bed at 9 PM, whether we're tired or not. Seven hours of sleep — no more, no less, because that's all the doctors from the Capitol tell us is necessary — then Kay wakes me up at 4:30 to start kneading the dough.

It could be worse, of course. I remind myself of this fact every day. I could be a harvester, working backbreaking hours in the fields, or sorting through wheat in the grainery where I've heard it's not uncommon to lose a finger to the metal jaws of the churners. At least here, all I have to worry about is meeting our order deadline.

Today, though, it's three hours past my usual wake-up time and there is much more to worry about.

When I step out of the cramped shower in our shared bathroom, I see that my mother has laid out Kay's old reaping dress for me. White cotton, capped sleeves, peppered with tiny pink flowers. I run a comb through my dripping hair, then slip into the dress, knotting the waist-tie at my side like they've started doing in all the Capitol magazines.

The drive to the square is silent. We take the shuttle, like we do every year, only this time I'm the only one there whose name might be called. Our neighbors, the Lancasters, have three kids, but none of them have been eligible for the reaping for years. And Kay turned nineteen four months ago. There's no guarantee, of course, that I'll be chosen. We're not particularly poor, don't have to take out hoards of tesserae like some of the families here do, but the fact remains that my name is in that bowl.

We exit the shuttle when it pulls up alongside the curb in the square. The Lancasters head off in the opposite direction, but Kay and my parents stay behind before we're herded off into different sections of the audience.

Kay gives my hand a squeeze before we're separated. "I'll see you after, okay?"

I try to respond, but the nerves are creeping up on me now and I feel as though I might not be able to keep my breakfast down if I open my mouth, so I give what I hope looks like a smile and nod.

I join the rest of the 16-year-olds, just before the annual film starts up on the screen onstage. When I was younger I used to pay attention to it, but ever since I became eligible for reaping, it's suddenly become much less of a priority. I barely hear the mayor's speech that follows, either; it's only when our escort, Celestia Tarrow, takes the stage that I start to listen.

"Why don't we mix things up a bit this year?" Celestia says, as if this will somehow add a bit of excitement to the day's proceedings. She moves over to the left-hand bowl. "Gentlemen first!"

She reaches her striped talons into the bowl and snatches up the first slip of paper that they seem to land on, then hands the microphone to an adjacent Peacekeeper. Her nails are so long that she seems to have some trouble unrolling the slip. It would be funny if we were in any other situation.

"Fabian DuPan!"

Celestia says his last name with a pronounced Capitol lilt, so I wonder briefly if she's butchered the name so much that that's why I don't recognize it. But the boy, with his shaggy blond curls and deep-set eyes, stands from the group of 14-year-olds and I realize that I truly don't know who he is. He approaches the stage with unnerving calm, a rigid stare straight ahead and small, even steps. I don't have time to feel sorry for him, though, because Celestia has already started over towards the girls' bowl. My heart is pounding so loudly that I don't hear the click-clacking of her vermillion heels, or the clink of her nails as she digs around the bowl, or even the name that she reads aloud from the slip.

It's only when the crowd around me collectively turns to stare in my direction that I realize that the name that's just been read is mine.

**Fabian DuPan, 14, District 9**

I have to admire this girl — Viveca is apparently her name — for not screaming, crying, or resisting, all three of which we've all seen plenty of times at the reapings. I don't think she hears Celestia the first time, because she has to repeat Viveca's name twice before she seems to register that she's been chosen.

"There she is! Come on up." Celestia beckons fervently towards Viveca, but the effect is lost. She makes no effort to speed up, and it takes an agonizingly long time for her to reach the stage. As usual, we're meant to shake hands. She turns to me, and for the first time, I see the abject terror in her eyes. She's a standout from the rest of us in 9; darker skin, brown curls, a wispy build. I'm not sure if it'll be more of a help or a hindrance to her in terms of sponsorships, but I can't imagine that standing out is particularly bad, especially when you're not from one of the wealthier districts.

We shake hands quickly — it's more of a hold than a shake, really, since Viveca seems almost paralyzed with fear — and then Celestia wraps up with her yearly speech, thanking the district for us, telling them to wish us luck. I scan the crowd, searching for my family's faces. I know I'll see them again, right before they shuttle us off into the train, but since I can now count on one hand the amount of times I'm guaranteed to see their faces again, I want to make every one count.

But a peacekeeper grabs my shoulder firmly, and we're steered into the justice building behind us before I can catch a glimpse.

**Everly Foille, 18, District 7**

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The entire square stops the proceedings. The girl — Daphne something — pauses just before the stairs to the stage, turning back to look at me with an expression of utter confusion. She takes one foot off the bottom stair, but still stands adjacent to the stage as I approach.

"I said I volunteer. You can go sit down now." I tell her, flashing a smug smile. Nobody, not the peacekeepers, not the escort, bothers contradicting me. Daphne scurries off to the group of 15-year-olds as I confidently step onto the stage.

"Well… ah… it appears we have a volunteer!" Our escort seems somewhat surprised, but no less enthusiastic when he points the microphone in my direction. "What's your name?"

"Everly Foille," I tell him, turning directly towards the cameras.

He lifts my hand in the air, announcing me as the official female tribute for District 7, then I step back as he begins to rummage through the boys' bowl.

I'm not sure I was even alive the last time we had a volunteer. Sure, we're at a slight advantage, but we've never been in the same league as 1 or 2 or 4. Most everyone I know doesn't even like the games. Not me. I've known I could win since I turned twelve, since my father handed me an axe and put me to work in the lumberyard. The volunteering already puts me at an advantage; I won't be surprised if I've just bought myself a spot in the Career alliance.

And for the first time in 20 years, District 7 is going to have itself a victor.

**Marcel Arbrous, 17, District 7**

Everly's an idiot as far as I'm concerned.

Granted, I'd barely spoken to her before today. But I see her up there, flashing smiles at the camera, saying her name like she's a contestant in one of those Capitol beauty pageants. She's 18. If she hadn't volunteered, she'd be safe now. Never have her name in that bowl again.

Maybe it's just the bitterness talking, though, since the next name they call is mine. And there's nobody stupid enough to take my place.

As I walk to the stage, trying to keep my face as blank as possible, I turn my thoughts again to my new district partner. Does she think she can win? She must. I can't imagine any other reason why she'd volunteer. Unless that other girl who got chosen was her friend. But from the look on her face, I doubt that's the case.

I know that I should be petrified that I've been chosen, but all I can think about is strategy. From the minute I started walking up here. The way I need to act, the training score I intend to get, my interview questions, all of it. I already know that I'm not nearly as skilled with an axe as District 7 kids are supposed to be, so I'm going to have to rely on everything else.

She takes my hand onstage and her grip is bone-crushing, despite the smile that stays plastered on her face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes from District 7, Everly Foille and Marcel Arbrous!"

The escort takes our hands, lifting them into the air, and I force a matching smile onto my face. I might not be stupid enough to willingly throw my life away like Everly, but I'm here now, and I intend to do everything I can to win.


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbyes & Train Rides

**August Brimstone, 18, District 12**

There are no friends to greet me in the justice building.

True, I never expected anyone to come by. I don't have many friends. Nobody's particularly awful to me, and there are a few kids here and there who will sit with me at lunch, or chat with me before school, but there's nobody apart from my family who's going to come see me off towards certain death.

We only get 10 minutes in total — 5 with friends, 5 with family — so I'd hoped that they'd at least send Rosa and my mother in for the full 10 minutes, but there's no one there. I'm beginning to worry that even my own family has decided that I'm not worth saying goodbye to, when suddenly a peacekeeper opens the door and my mother and sister rush inside. Mom throws her arms around me, but Rosa hangs back, perched on the edge of an armchair and refusing to look at me.

"I'm sorry, they… they wouldn't let us in before. I wanted to come in the minute they brought you in here, but I figured it would only make things worse if I argued."

"It's alright, mom. You're here now."

She finally pulls away, but keeps her hands on my shoulders, not wanting to let me go for even a second. I look again towards Rosa, who's now staring at the floor.

"Ro?"

"She didn't want to say goodbye," my mother explains. Of course. My sister is seven years old. She's seen how the games go for tributes from our district. We've had one victor in the past 40 years. It was a fluke win; she only survived because a gamemaker-induced fire got out of hand and killed everyone else. Got her pretty bad too — they had to reconstruct her face in the Capitol. And even so, she died ten years ago. Things don't look good for me, and I'm sure it looks even more hopeless to Rosa.

"I know it's scary, Ro," I tell her, kneeling down in front of the chair. "It's scary for me too. But I'm going to try to win."

"You're not gonna win."

The words jolt me more than they should.

"Don't say that." I try to come across as calm, but my voice breaks towards the end. "I'm really fast. I won those track medals at school, remember?"

She doesn't answer. From the hallway, the peacekeeper announces that we have a minute remaining.

"Nobody from 12 ever wins," she whispers finally.

I want to argue. I want to give her hope, something to look forward to when she sits down to watch the games every night. But there's nothing I can say, because she's right. In 40 years, we've had one victor. The odds are nowhere near in my favor.

So instead, I hug my mother again, and I hold her until the peacekeeper comes inside to escort them out. I want Rosa to turn back, to suddenly gain confidence in her brother, run back and hug me or something, but she just turns and leaves. And then I'm alone.

**Jessianne Holsten, 16, District 10**

"The first thing you gotta do is get your hands on a cleaver. Or a meathook. A pulverizer. Somethin' we use every day. They'll never know what hit 'em."

My father sits across from me, still wearing a blood-splattered butcher's apron under his overcoat. He wasn't even at the reapings; doesn't have to be, not when our shop is in charge of supplying meat for the post-reaping ceremony in the Capitol. They dragged him out when my name was called. And now he's taken to strategizing.

"I don't know what the arena's gonna be like, dad. They might have a cleaver if I'm lucky, but I doubt there'll be any meathooks." He's got that disgruntled look on his face now, the kind he gets when someone comes in the shop and asks for forty pounds of fresh beef in the next half-hour. "And besides, what am I gonna do, charge a pack of careers with, what, a meat pulverizer?"

"You ain't weak, Jessie. You stand a chance in that arena just as much as the rest of 'em do."

I lean back in my chair and sigh. To some degree, he's right. I'm not the most ill-equipped tribute to ever come out of District 10, but I'm nowhere near the strongest. I've seen hulking 18-year-old cattle ranchers make it just 30 seconds into the bloodbath. How am I supposed to do any better?

"I know, dad. And I'm gonna try to come home, of course I am, but—"

"You're gonna do more than try. You're smart, and you know how to use a weapon, and that's a lot more than I can say for the rest of those kids," he tells me. The peacekeeper tells him that time's up, and he stands from his chair. "I love you, Jessie, and I'll see you in a few weeks. This ain't goodbye."

He hugs me for the first time since he came in, then follows the peacekeeper out the door.

I just wish that I could believe that this won't be the last time I see him.

**Tessa Edmond, 13, District 12**

My district partner has been silent the whole way back. August, I think I heard the escort say when his name was called. We've got the same Seam look, to the point where we could probably pass for siblings, but I don't think I've ever seen him before. Probably because he's so much older than I am.

It's a long way back to the Capitol, and it's not like we have a mentor to talk to, so I decide to strike up a conversation as best I can.

"Did your family come to say goodbye?" Not exactly the most cheerful subject, but it's all I can think to ask. For the first time, he turns away from the window to look at me.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yep. My parents and all four of my sisters."

He sort of nods in response, then turns back to the window, and we're plunged back into that awkward silence. After a few more seconds of it, I decide to stand. There's an entire buffet of food that they've laid out for us in our car, but I haven't touched it since we boarded and our escort glared at me for scooping up a spicy orange rice concoction with my hands. I return to it now, though, and heap some of the rice onto a plate.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I ask August tentatively.

"Sure." He doesn't specify any further, so I just scoop up a bit of everything. When I set the plate down next to him, he turns away from the window again.

"I was born a week late, you know."

"What?"

"Yep. Due on the twenty-first, born on the twenty-eighth."

I'm trying to figure out why it's this, out of everything he could've decided to share with me, when it suddenly hits me.

"The twenty-eighth, that's… that's two days from now."

He chuckles bitterly. "Four days. If I'd been born four days earlier, my name wouldn't have even been in that bowl."

There isn't really much you can say to that, is there? So I sit there with him, and we both eat far too much of the Capitol food, and I wonder who'd be sitting here across from me if August's birthday hadn't been too late.

**Braden Cadsmith, 17, District 10**

"First things first, what _can_ you do? And if the answer is nothing, then you'd might as well tell us now. Lying to impress us isn't going to get you anywhere in the arena."

We're one of the luckier districts, to get two mentors. Alberta is technically Jessianne's mentor, but she seems to have decided to take control of the whole thing while my mentor, a mousy little guy named Rendell, sits beside her and occasionally nods.

I rack my brain, trying to come up with a good answer. My parents are farmers — then again, so is pretty much everyone in 10 to some extent — and years of working on the farm have made me pretty good at herding cattle. Not so much at killing people.

"My father's a butcher," Jessianne says, somewhat timidly.

"Well then, it's a shame he's not here," Alberta snaps back. "I asked about you. Not your parents, not your siblings. My job — _our_ job — is to make sure you two know your strengths before you're tossed into an arena with twenty-two other kids who all know theirs."

"Um… yeah, I meant that he's taught me stuff. About… knives. And butchering. Things like that."

Alberta lets out what I can only assume is an overexaggerated sigh. "Stuff about knives and butchering. At least it's a place to start. And what about you?"

"I've worked on a farm for a while, so I guess I'm good with… uh… cattle prods? Whips? You've lived in 10 your whole life, you know how it is."

"Cattle prods and whips. Not exactly the type of weapons you'll usually see in the arena, but again, it's a start." She sits down beside Rendell, looking slightly more pleased with us. "So that's weapons. What about strategy?"

For the next hour or so, Alberta and Rendell give us the lay of the land on everything about the games we don't already know. They come to the consensus that both of us will be popular with the sponsors. Me, with my tan and my dark hair and my eyes, apparently, which Alberta calls "piercing". And Jessianne's a shoe-in for sponsors, I could've told you that from the moment they called her onstage. We look nothing alike, of course, but as I learn from Rendell, that's going to be good for us.

As we go, I begin to get an idea of the angle I'd like to take. Stoic. Maybe with a softer streak; throw in a few words about my parents. But stoic's the best I can do, I think, because it's how I've been feeling since I was reaped. I figure it's the calm before the storm, like my brain hasn't quite caught up with the reality of what happened. I'm sure that I'll break down one of these nights, but for now, it seems as if I'm going into these games calmly, numbly.

Maybe it means I'm stupid, or removed from reality, or so conditioned by the Capitol that my subconscious no longer sees the games as the horrible things they are. And then again, maybe it just means I'm stronger than I think.


	3. Chapter 3: Costumes and Chariots

**Theodore Nebron, 17, District 3**

From my spot in the armchair next to the television, I watch as Panem's anthem starts up and the screen fades into our hosts for this year. On the couch adjacent to me, our escort, a flighty woman named Sylvestine, perks up even more than I thought possible. She practically slaps Patra awake the second she sees that she's dozed off on the couch.

"This is important for _all of us_," Sylvestine hisses at my district partner.

Onscreen, we're greeted by the games' newest resident host, Caesar Flickerman, and his co-host, a pixie-ish woman who introduces herself as "Aquila Everstone". I remember watching Caesar's first show last year — he was an instant hit in the Capitol. Guess he was good enough that they wanted him back.

"Well, we've certainly got ourselves a variety pack this year, haven't we Caesar?"

Caesar laughs good-naturedly. "Aquila, I'd say that is the understatement of the _year_," he responds. "Now, folks, you're going to want to pay attention here, because now's the first time we're going to get a good look at all our tributes. And as my lovely co-host pointed out, it's certainly an interesting bunch!"

"Let's not keep them waiting any longer, Caesar. Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of the 40th annual Hunger Games!"

My heart starts to pound a little faster as the show cuts to what I assume must be the reaping stage in District 1. There's nothing I can do now, of course, everyone's already been reaped, but I'm dreading seeing who my competition will be. I already know that a good number of them will be leagues ahead of me in terms of skill.

Lucient Rever from District 1 is everything you'd expect. Along with the name, which sounds more like a perfume from the Capitol than something you'd name your child, he's everything that the rest of us hate about 1. Blond, charming, flashing toothy grins at the camera every chance he gets. He's a volunteer of course, first one onstage. The girl who follows is equally ridiculously named, and equally gorgeous as well. Charmeuse Devereaux is one of the only volunteers I've ever seen with no competition. We've only gotten through one district, and already I'm outcharmed and outskilled.

2 isn't much better, at least in terms of confidence. Antonia Clearve practically maims the other girl who's trying to get to the stage, and by the time the burly escort holds her hand up, there's already a red gash starting to form on her cheek where the would-be volunteer girl dug her nails. The boy, Maxwell Eden, is at least shorter in stature than his predecessor, but still has an unnerving calmness that I can tell is completely genuine.

Then we're on to us. It's always been humiliating, watching our district sandwiched between the Careers, but this year it's worse because I'm the one being called onstage. Patra's first, though, and I can't help but feel a pang of sadness when I realize that there are silent tears streaming down her face as she walks to the stage. I vaguely recall trying to stay calm after they called my name, but one glance at the screen tells me that it didn't work. I look terrified. Probably because I am.

District 4 starts with another volunteer. Cyrine Fleuve has dark hair and dark, narrow eyes, and she takes the stage with a silent superiority. I'm already afraid of her. Terrent Cohen, on the other hand, surprises even Sylvestine — nobody volunteers for him.

"Isn't that nice? There are always so many volunteers in District 4, hardly anyone gets the chance to represent their district if their name is called! He must be one of their strongest competitors," Sylvestine gushes.

But Terrent doesn't look particularly strong. In fact, he keeps glancing towards the group around him, as if expecting somebody to jump up and volunteer. Nobody does.

Ian Solrus from District 5 is only 12, which I think makes all of us a little sad, but when the girl's name is called, Patra gasps.

"That's Harriet Sabel!"

I stare at her in confusion. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"You know… from two years ago? The pregnant girl?"

"Nope, still nothing."

Patra rolls her eyes, as if it's common knowledge. "Her name got drawn from the bowl when she was 16, but she was pregnant. There was this whole uproar about it in the Capitol. And I guess they must've eventually caved, because they did a special second reaping in five. And you know what? That's the year that the girl from five won, that's Porter Millicent Tripp's year, so I guess it all worked out in the end."

"Huh. And now she's back in the games. What are the chances?"

Sylvestine's stayed silent through the whole exchange, and I'm guessing it's because she doesn't approve of Harriet Sabel narrowly escaping the games. I take her silence as an invitation to stop talking too.

Leyla Vitrin's tribute profile tells us that she's 17, but I wouldn't have guessed her to be anywhere past 13. She's tiny, with dark skin and jet-black hair that falls to her hips. Quentin Casel is the same height as her, only he actually _is_ 13\. Two young male tributes in a row. I feel bad for them, of course, but there's a small part of me, a part of me I hate, that's glad I have two less people to worry about for competition.

That's the halfway point — we're only 12 tributes in, and I've already seen at least five people that could kill me without much effort. I shouldn't be surprised, of course, but it's still unnerving, seeing them up on those stages and knowing that in a few days, their only objective will be to eliminate each other. And me.

When District 6 finishes up, we're back to Caesar and Aquila, who introduce us to a brief commercial break before the rest of the reapings are shown. Sylvestine mutters something about conversing with the mentors and hurries off. I glance at Patra one more time — she's dozing off again, clearly tired from the days proceedings — then head towards the buffet that was laid out for us when we arrived.

**Terrent Cohen, 16, District 4**

"Get in here, it's back on!" Cyrine calls from the living room.

I make it back from the kitchen just in time to see the boorish girl from 7 volunteer. She takes everyone by surprise. I can't remember the last time we saw a volunteer from anywhere other than a Career district.

Cyrine scoffs. "She better hope she's skilled, 'cause she's definitely not getting any sponsors with that face."

I wouldn't have said it out loud, but Cyrine's not wrong. Everly, the girl from 7, isn't anywhere near pretty.

"She probably is. Why else would she volunteer?" I say, falling onto the soft couch next to Cyrine. We watch the rest of 7's reaping in silence — the boy, Marcel, is twig-like and forgettable — before I decide that it's a good a time as any to say what I've been meaning to since the reaping.

"So… you think we're gonna let her in the alliance? The girl from seven?"

She doesn't even look at me.

"Funny. You say that like we're allies or something."

There it is. The answer I was dreading. I take a deep breath. "I mean… yeah… aren't we?

"It's called the Career alliance for a reason. I've spent the past six years training for this, and so has everyone from one and two. You don't earn a spot with us just because you're from four," she tells me. Then she turns back to the screen and mumbles, "Not our fault everyone hated you too much to volunteer."

"Okay," I say, because there's really no argument I can make. We settle into an uncomfortable silence as the rest of the reapings play through. The later districts have never been fun to watch; besides 7, which at least sometimes has some strong competitors, it's rare to see anyone of much fighting worth. Still, now that I'm going to be headed into the arena with all of these people, I figure that it might be more comforting. Less people to worry about.

The tributes from 8 are forgettable. The girl, a small redhead with braids, is trembling with fear as she gets onstage. Her partner isn't much better. He tries to keep up a brave face for the camera, but I can see that he's about to break.

The boy from 9 is younger, but he also seems much calmer. Pretty typical for his district, with the blond hair. He won't stand out. The girl, on the other hand, seems nearly frozen in fear. Her dark curls are a standout from the rest of the nearly unanimously blonde district, but overall, the pair is nothing special. Another couple of terrified, underprepared kids.

In 10, we get a switch, if not in skill level then in appearance. The boy towers above everyone onstage, even the peacekeepers. So far, he's the only tribute I've seen who's emotions are unreadable — there's no confidence, no fear, no anything. The girl is much less reserved. She tries to hide behind her massive blonde curls, but there's no denying the utter terror in her eyes.

The only remarkable thing about the pair from 11 is that the boy looks far too young to be competing in the games. He keeps his head down the whole time, even when they call up a 17-year-old who looks like she could be his sister.

And then finally, 12. A sad looking pair, meek and underfed, with the same dark-eyed and olive-skinned look we see practically every year. It's always a sad note to end on, District 12.

I want to keep watching, see the aftershow, maybe get an idea of what Caesar and Aquila think of the lot of us, but Cyrine clicks off the TV in the middle of a close-up on the tributes from 12.

"I'm going to bed," she tells me flatly.

I should do the same. My guaranteed nights of restfulness are numbered, and besides, Chariot rides are tomorrow. It's our first official introduction to the public, and I want to be ready. I want to be seen as more than just the boy nobody wanted to volunteer for.

**Cyrine Fleuve, 18, District 4**

It's been three hours.

At least, it feels like it has. There's no visible clocks from where I'm strapped to the table. I've got no idea what they're doing to me, but whatever it is, I better look incredible. We're one of the lucky districts that doesn't get stuck as a cow or a coal miner each year, so I'm expecting the best of the best.

"Almost done, Cyrine!" My stylist, Creed, is almost beside himself. I've got to admit that even I'm a little excited to see what he's put together.

I don't even notice that they're done until Creed pushes a button and a ceiling panel unveils a giant, full-length mirror. The constraints on my arms and neck release, and I can't help but audibly gasp when I see my costume.

I'm a mermaid.

I've seen pictures before, of course, they're everywhere in 4. I've even seen the costumes that the little girls in town like to parade around in. But this… it's beyond any of that. I'd swear that I'd been sewn into a fish.

Iridescent scales — blue and green and purple — cover my legs, then fade into bare skin as they travel up my torso. Past where I can feel my toes, a beautiful fishtail fans out onto the table. The prep team goes to work again, pinning flowers and corals and shells up and down my body.

"It's beautiful," I tell Creed, and I mean it. I don't know if I've ever looked better.

"It is, isn't it? We've never done anything of the sort in four, though I don't know why not! Terrent's got the same costume on next door — you two are going to be quite the pair." He helps me up to a sitting position as the prep team scurries off in different directions.

"How are we going to fit in the chariots?" I ask. "I mean, these tails are gorgeous, but they're huge! I don't even think we can stand in them."

As if on cue to answer my question, the prep team comes back in, all three guiding a human-sized tank of water on wheels. Creed smiles at me.

"Who said anything about standing?"

**Patra Argent, 15, District 3**

I shift uncomfortably in my dress again. It's not that it doesn't fit — I'm sure this is exactly what my stylist wanted — but I feel too exposed. Yes, they've painted on intricate buttons and metal on most of my bare skin, but I still feel far too naked to be standing out here with all these people. We're robots, I think, hair tucked into caps and painted over, our whole bodies covered in vibrant technological patterns except for the strategically placed silver fabric drapings. My stylist called it a dress, but it's been so ripped beyond repair that I think it would qualify more as a swimsuit.

Personification seems to be all the rage this year with the chariots. We all had a good time gawking at the mermaids from 4, partially submerged in wheeled water tanks. About half an hour ago a few members of what I'm assuming was District 4's prep team come in and inject a clear substance into the arms of the tributes; whatever it was, I guess it's helping them breathe underwater, because they've been grinning at us from inside the tanks ever since. They're gorgeous, of course, and I'm already wishing that we had something just as fantastic to make us stand out.

1's dressed as actual diamonds, bathed in layers of what looks like glass. And I think 2 is supposed to be some kind of weapon, though I'm not sure what. Both tributes from 5 are covered in solar panels. It's actually a pretty good-looking ensemble, but for me it hits too close to home. District 5 supplies the Capitol with the power from the panels, but my district is the one that manufactures them. I try to catch a glimpse of a few other districts — I can see trees for 7, of course, and what looks like 10's signature cow costume — but they've already started lining us up and most of the others are obscured from view by 4's tanks.

We stand in silence for a bit, Theo and I, not really knowing what to say to each other. Luckily, it's only a few minutes of awkwardness before we're instructed to enter the chariots. Here we go, I guess. Theo steps up first, then offers me his hand. I take it, then hoist myself up into the chariot. Even when I'm settled, he doesn't let go.

"So we're still doing the united front, then, yeah?" He asks, a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

I nod. "Yeah." We decided it last night, after the reapings finished. District 3 is rarely noticeable, what with being in the middle of so many career districts, and Theo and I both figured that it would be better to present ourselves as a team. I don't know if that means that this unity's going to translate into an alliance. I'm not even sure I know how to ask.

Cheers erupt from the Capitol crowd, and I realize that they've started sending us out. And suddenly, I'm reminded of where I am, and what I'm wearing, and I grip Theo's hand even tighter because it's all I can do. The diamonds are already out, then the weapons, and finally us.

The horses lurch forward, and both Theo and I grab the sides of the chariot for balance as we're pulled towards the deafening cheers and blinding lights.


	4. Chapter 4: Training

**Quentin Casel, 13, District 6**

Leyla pulls her headdress off the second we step down from the chariots. I can't blame her — I start tugging at mine as soon as our mentors stop fawning. We're dressed as trains, almost an exact copy of the costumes we see every year, in these bulky metal suits that swallow us up.

"Do you think we were good?" I ask Leyla as we're walking towards the elevator. We haven't spoken much since the reaping, but I've been trying since then to get on her good side. I figure if there's anyone here who will be willing to form an alliance with me, it's gonna be her.

She shrugs. "I don't think the costumes helped. But we definitely weren't _bad_."

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure I entirely believe it.

I keep telling myself that this stuff doesn't really matter. Our mentors do. They say that the interviews and the training scores and even the chariot rides are half the battle, but I've seen kids with terrible interviews go on to win the games. Terrible scores, too. So I'm going to try, of course, but what really matters is my performance in the games. Not that I think that's going to be any better, but it's something to focus on.

The elevator stops about halfway up, and we're joined by the girl from 2 and the boy from 3. The girl's terrifying, dressed head to toe in some kind of plated armor. She doesn't even acknowledge us as she steps in, but the boy turns around and gives us a polite nod.

"Cool costume," I say to him, trying to fill the awkward silence that's settled into the elevator.

"Thanks." He doesn't meet my eyes. I wonder if he's just quiet, or if he's nervous for training tomorrow. Maybe a little of both.

They get off at their respective floors before Leyla and I step onto the sixth one. She remains silent as she rushes off towards her room, and our mentors quickly say goodnight before leaving me on my own in the suite. Technically, we're not supposed to be in bed for an hour — I could stay up, watch some Capitol TV, maybe read some of the books lying around. Instead, I go straight to my room.

I dress for bed quickly, then crawl between the sheets. Training starts tomorrow, and I know I should get as much rest as I can. But all I can think about are all the things I can't do, and how bad it's going to make me look, and how nobody's going to want to be my ally. It must be another two hours before I actually drift off.

**Leyla Vitrin, 17, District 6**

Quentin and I are the first ones in the training center the next morning. It's unusual, our mentors kept telling us, to be there this early, but I insisted and Quentin didn't seem up to arguing. Maybe he wanted to get here as soon as possible too.

Our training clothes are simple — black shirt, fitted black pants, and matching boots. I've braided my hair back, but it's still a substantial length. I'm planning on cutting it before the games, but my mentor, Zena, advised me to keep it this long at least until the interviews. Helps make me unique, I guess.

The head trainer isn't even there yet, but Zena tells me to just go ahead and get started, so Quentin and I branch out in different directions.

My first thought is to try the edible foods station, since I've got absolutely no idea where to start in that regard, but the trainer in charge of it hasn't arrived yet, so I move on to some of the long-distance weapons. The bow is my first choice, but it's lofty and hard to hold, and every time I pull the string back my arm starts to shake. I'm clearly not strong enough. By the time I've moved on to the throwing knives — which I find to be much more user-friendly — other districts have started to trickle in.

The tributes from 1 are the first after us. The girl gets this sour look on her face when she sees me already there, tossing knives at the target. I'm not doing as well as I'm sure she would be, but I guess the fact that I'm here before her is bad enough. Her partner whispers something to her and they both laugh, then the two of them head towards the axe station. Great.

The knives are alright. I'm hitting the target, sometimes even close to a bullseye, but I'm not sure if that means I'd be able to hit, say, a moving person. Or even that these type of knives will be in the arena. Still, I keep going, throwing knife after knife into the smooth white targets across from me. I barely notice when the boy from 10 picks up at the station next to mine.

"They got a lot of knives in six?"

I jump slightly, and the knife veers out of my hand at an odd angle. It misses the target completely. I can't say it doesn't make me a little irked, but I don't particularly feel like making any early enemies, so I try not to let it show.

"Not really," I say back.

"Huh. Well you're pretty good. Must be a natural."

I'm not sure where this is going. Is he looking for an alliance?

"Thanks," I tell him shortly. I've always been a bit skeptical of the idea of an alliance in the games, but now that I'm the one in them, I'm starting to wonder if it's not the worst idea. Best to see if he's actually qualified though. "So are you just gonna stand there?" I ask.

He laughs, picking up one of the knives and examining it. "I've never done this before. Here, show me how you throw them."

I model the stance for him, gripping the handle and drawing my arm back at an angle before letting it fly at the target. He copies me, and the first knife buries itself into the side of the target. Not bad.

For the next few minutes or so, we talk and we throw. Braden is his name, I find out. In the half-hour that we spend at the knife-throwing station, he doesn't once bring up an alliance. The girl from 2 takes the spot to my left, and Braden and I stand rather speechless as the hurls each one of her knives, hitting the center of the target every time. Just as I'm about to return to what I'm now considering my pathetic attempt at knife throwing, the head trainer calls us to the center of the room. I walk with Braden as we all circle up around her.

**Charmeuse Devereaux, 18, District 1**

"First things first, no fighting. You'd think that one's obvious, but the things I've seen…" The head trainer, a tall and fit woman named Paria, shakes her head. "You hurt each other and that's it. Training privileges revoked. I've had to do it before and let me tell you, it's not going to help your case in the arena. So save it for then."

She gives us a brief rundown of the rest of the center, the stations, the weapons, the trainers, but I'm already bored. I guess it must always be like this for tributes from 1 and 2. We know this stuff already.

When Paria finally ends her speech, I meet up with the others. Lucient's been by my side this whole time, and Maxwell finds us quick, but the others don't flock to us like I expect them to.

"Where's Antonia?" I ask Max.

He jabs his finger towards one of the stations. "Showing up those two with the knives. It was the first thing she wanted to do when we got here. I expect she'll be done scaring them soon."

I nod. "And the tributes from four?"

"Right here," says a voice from behind. I turn to see the girl, tall and thin and grinning wickedly at us. "I'm Cyrine. We haven't met."

Lucient smiles at her. "Cyrine… like a siren? Cute."

She nods curtly, but I can tell she doesn't appreciate the comment. There's nothing cute about her.

"Weren't you the mermaid?" I ask, suddenly remembering her gorgeous costume at the parade. I smile at her when she answers affirmatively. "That was _incredible_. I'm so jealous of your stylist."

Maxwell throws up his hand, as if to cut in. "What about your partner? Is he with us?"

The smile falls from her face. "No. No, I made it quite clear to him that this is a career-only alliance. He wasn't a volunteer. We don't want him here."

Nobody responds to this, so I can't tell what they think, but personally I think it's a good decision. They call us the Careers for a reason.

"But," Cyrine says, her voice taking on a different tone, "I was thinking Everly from seven might be good. The volunteer? We'll be down one member because of Terrent, and she seems sure of herself."

I turn my attention towards Everly, whose throwing around an axe with the heavily armored trainer in that section. Cyrine is right. She's a natural with the weapon, wielding it as though it's a part of her arm.

"I want her," I say. "And anyone else who's good enough."

The rest of us seem to agree, so we branch off. Maxwell and Lucient start towards the knife station to collect Antonia, while Cyrine and I head to the axes to recruit Everly.

**Lucient Rever, 18, District 1**

I watch as Max pins the trainer to the ground, sword up against his metal throat, until he's immobilized long enough for everyone watching to see that Max is once again victorious. Amidst the terrified looks from the other tributes in line, Antonia and I break out into thunderous applause as Max takes a few exaggerated bows.

He slips between the ropes of the sword fighting ring as the girl from 9 climbs in after him and struggles to even lift the sword.

"I mean, really, are we even going to miss the guy from four? I beat that trainer three times in a _row_. We'll be the last alliance standing by the second day," Max tells us in between swigs of water.

I join in with laughter, but Antonia doesn't, instead staring thoughtfully over at the other stations.

"What is it? You jealous?" Max asks when he notices.

"I want the boy from 7," she says matter-of-factly. "I've been watching him for a while, over with the axes. He's good."

"The skinny kid? Can he even hold an axe?" I ask. I remember him clearly from the reapings, a stark contrast from the confidence of his district partner.

She purses her lips. "Career alliances are supposed to have six members. We have five. Five of us have trained for this, but we're down one this year, and let's be honest… we have no idea if Everly's any good. She wouldn't be the first idiot to volunteer with no skill."

"So he's backup," I say. "In case Everly's a dud and we're short manpower."

"Exactly."

I follow her gaze, towards the mostly-deserted axe station. He moves with the same fluidity as Everly, a natural with the axe. Antonia's right — it's better to have a bigger alliance. And District 7's always been the safest choice, since they're the only ones apart from us who get any real training.

"I'm in," I say. "That is, if Charm and Cyrine agree to it."

"Whoa guys, maybe think this through a bit?" Max says. "What if he's not up to it? Slows us down, gets us caught in some kind of trap… betrays us?"

Antonia gives an odd sort of half smile, as if the solution is the most obvious thing in the world. "Then I get to kill him."


	5. Chapter 5: Private Sessions & Scores

**Maxwell Eden, 17, District 2**

They call my name as Charmeuse flounces out of the closed-off section of the training hall. Whatever she did in there, it seems like it worked out pretty well.

The gamemakers sit above me, around a magnificent feast, looking pleased. I can't tell if it's because of Charmeuse, or that they're expecting me to be good, or if it's just because they haven't gotten tired of watching us toss weapons around. Whatever the reason, I'm glad that they're focused. Because I'm about to blow them away.

"Maxwell Eden, District Two," I announce, giving a little bow. Then, without so much as a nod of approval from them, I leap into action. The sword is first; I pull one smoothly from it's sheath and go to work on one of the dummies. Turning and slicing with precision, I slice the thing limb from limb without pausing to take a breath.

Next, the bow and arrows. I want to show them how well-rounded I am — just as good with the long-distance weapons as I am the sword. Back home, swords were my go-to, but I dabbled in a bit of archery as well. I've been brushing up on it for the past week in the training center, though, and it shows. I hit the center each time except for the last, when I can feel the muscles in my right arm starting to twitch. It's not as close as the last five, but I just hope that the gamemakers will overlook the one bad arrow.

And it's not like I give them much of a chance to consider it, either. From the arrow station I jog to the ropes, uncoiling one as I go to grab a knife. I work fast, threading the rope together in the ways that I've been practicing all week, until I've got a solid noose. I pause for just a second and tilt it towards the gamemakers, just to show that I can. The next bit happens so quick that I'm not even sure how I manage to accomplish it; the noose, looped around a dummy's neck. Me, scrambling up the fake tree as high as I dare. I string the dummy up, securing it in the lower branches before I jump to the ground and, in a single swift motion, send my knife flying straight into where the dummy's heart would be.

The force knocks it sideways and it swings there for a while, as I turn towards the gamemakers, breathing heavily and grinning.

It only takes them about five seconds to burst into a string of applause. They're still clapping when I give another bow and walk proudly from the room.

"Good luck beating that," I tell Antonia as I pass her on the way out.

**Antonia Clearve, 18, District 2**

As if I need the luck.

I've known Max for years. He's good, of course, but good in the sense that he can unceremoniously take someone out with a sword. I'm different. The Capitol likes to see us kill each other, sure, but what they love more than that is the show. Something flashy, something that'll keep them talking for days. And I intend to give it to them.

Today's just a preview, though.

The gamemakers are still chatting up a storm when I walk in, so I guess whatever Max did, they liked.

"Antonia Clearve, District 2," I say, waiting until what I presume to be the head gamemaker gestures towards the weaponry. I smile politely, then start my show.

Knives first, obviously. I scoop up a pile, then scale the tree as fast as I can, until I'm at the highest branch that can possibly support my weight. I hear mutters of approval as I throw the first knife and it hits the target dead on. That's good. Show 'em that I can hunt from any angle.

Then I leap into action. Climbing, sliding, gliding through the branches, I pause every few feet on the way down to send a knife hurtling towards the target, each one hitting the center. When I'm down to the last knife and almost to the tree's lower branches, I pause, wrap my knees and one arm around the branch, and lean sideways. I let the last knife fly straight into one of the dummies' heads.

From there I twist around, dropping from the tree into a perfect somersault that takes me right to the camouflage station. It took me a while to figure out what I'd do for my second act, and this is what I decided on. I already know that the rest of my allies are going to be all brawn; this will set me apart. And besides, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Keeping the time in mind, I work fast, throwing together the greens and browns and blacks that match the tree. By the time I'm done, I can practically feel the anticipation emanating from the gamemakers. I turn from the station, grinning, then line my arm up with the tree. They burst into applause — my arm is virtually invisible.

That's it, then. I curtsy at them, smiling pleasantly before I make my exit.

As I walk out, I wonder silently if anyone's ever gotten a 12 before. Maybe I'll make history.

**Neria Houndstooth, 16, District 8**

Chase exits the room looking paler than I've ever seen him. I don't bother humiliating him by asking him how it was. I have to focus on myself now.

Only a few gamemakers look my way when I walk in. Makes sense, I guess. I'm, what, the 16th tribute they've seen today? And my district partner's just disappointed them. Hopefully I'm not about to do the same.

"Neria Houndstooth. District 8." I try to sound confident enough, but my voice wavers a bit. The head gamemaker gives a haphazard wave as he takes a sip of wine and whispers something to a colleague.

I decide to start with knot-tying, since it's something I know already. Technically, they like us to show new skills that we've learned, but since I haven't made any particular improvements, I think it's best to go with what makes me look competent.

The knots go well. I try a few that I'm hopeful they haven't seen before, ending with an intricate noose that I string from the branches of a tree. That's all I really mean to do, but they look almost bored at this point, so I decide to go the extra mile and hang a dummy. Big mistake.

These things are meant to be speared and mutilated, not dragged around by an underfed teenager. But I've got the dummy in my arms already, and something tells me it might actually look worse if I give up now, so I keep going. I do get it up in the tree eventually, swinging awkwardly from my noose.

I'm not sure what else to do, or how much time I have left, so I go for the bow and arrows. My dad's always been an archery fan, so I've used one before, and I figure that's better than trying something new with a sword or a spear.

It's not bad. I hit the target each time, though not as precisely as I'd like, and for my last arrow, I shoot towards the dummy. I miss. But it does lodge itself in the tree, which looks much better than if I'd simply missed entirely, so I try to look as if that's what I was trying to hit.

I set the bow down, then nod towards the gamemakers to indicate that I'm done. A few in the back applaud, and I stand there for a few awkward moments before the head gamemaker finally snaps, "You can go now."

Oh well. I try to tell myself that it's my performance in the games that really matters, not my training score. But I can't help but feel bad. All I've got now to secure me some sponsors is my interview.

**Chase Beaumont, 14, District 8**

"Up, up, up! They'll be announcing the scores any minute!" Mitzi, our escort, is back in her state of games-induced excitement now that they're showing our scores. I've been able to tolerate her up until now, but tonight, knowing that whatever awful score they've stuck me with is going to be broadcast to the entire nation, she's even more irritating than usual.

We leave our places at the dining table and join her on the couch. I catch Neria staring at me, looking pained, but when I try to meet her eye she quickly looks away. Awesome. Even my own district partner thinks I'm pathetic.

Caesar and Aquila are back on TV to introduce the scores. They do some bit about being excited about this group, that we show promise, the same stuff they say each year before the scores. I'm not really listening — I really just want to see how bad I did.

The hosts grinning faces fade away as we're met with the first score of the night… a 9, for Lucient Rever from District 1. His district partner gets the same, just as expected.

Maxwell Eden from Two scores a 9 as well, but his partner gets a 10. Mitzi squeals and gives a quick round of applause. Double digit scores are rare, even for Careers.

Patra Argent from Three gets a 6, and her partner, Theodore, an 8. But Terrent from Four is actually surprising — he gets a 7, the second-lowest score we've seen so far — and I wonder briefly how that's going to go over with what I presume are his fellow Careers. The girl, Cyrine, gets an 11, and none of us are surprised. She's terrifying. I mentally add her to the list of tributes to steer clear of, right alongside Antonia from Two.

Ian Solrus from Five gets a withering 4, and Harriet Sabel even worse, with a 3. I've heard there was some kind of controversy around her a few years ago, but I was too young to remember it and Neria doesn't seem to know either. And Mitzi just flat-out ignored me when I asked. I wonder if her score is related to that somehow?

Quentin from Six earns a 6. Fitting, I guess. I remember him from training, one of the only ones who would talk to me. I considered asking about an alliance, but never worked up the nerve. I probably should get around to it, though. Maybe at the interviews tomorrow. I'm so busy wondering about how to phrase my proposition and what I'll do if he says no that I almost miss Leyla Vitrin's score — an 8. Impressive.

Both tributes from Seven get the same high scores — both 9s. It's pretty much like that every year, though. They're basically on the same level as Careers in terms of skill, thanks to those axes.

I don't even realize that we're on our district until they're flashing my name and my picture next to my score. My heart sinks. A 4.

My guess is that they'd usually applaud for our scores when we get them, but this doesn't seem to warrant that. Of course, I knew that I didn't do good in my private session. Knot-tying's really all I can do, and even that's only helpful if you know how to do a noose. Which I don't. So I tried my hand with a bow, but that was disastrous as well. Still, I was hoping for something a little better. As of now, I'm on the same level as the 12-year-old from Five.

Neria does better, but not by much — a 6 isn't great, but it's better than mine. Everyone claps for her though. I guess it would be kind of awkward if neither of us got applause.

Usually after around District 7 or so, the scores start to taper off, get lower as we go through the poorer districts. This time is no exception. Viveca Lordsmith and Fabian DuPan get matching 5s. Braden Cadsmith from Ten does fairly well, earning a 7, but his partner Jessianne is back down to a 5 as well.

Eleven and Twelve are abysmal. 4s all around, except for the girl from 11, who somehow manages to get a 2. I didn't even know they _gave_ scores that low. If anything, it makes me feel better about myself. My score is awful, but at least it won't single me out as the worst. Just _one_ of the worst.

Before I head to bed, my mentor, Woof, who won about 20 years ago, grabs my arm.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, alright? Scores aren't what matter. I got a 6."

I try to smile and nod at him. Sure, he got a 6, but he was also 18 and one of the strongest fighters in the arena.

As I climb into bed, I think about the interviews tomorrow. I need sponsors. I need them. The chariots were my first chance, and it looks like I just blew my second, so the interview is all I have left.

Drifting off, I try to think about what I can possibly say tomorrow that will secure me some sponsors. Nothing comes to mind.


	6. Chapter 6: Interviews

**A/N:**** Hello! If you've stuck around this long, I hope you're enjoying the story! I've been a bit busy lately, so I haven't had time to write, but I should have the next few chapters up soon. Here we have the interviews, with the last four tributes, the last chapter before the bloodbath.**

**Ian Solrus, 12, District 5**

"One more time," Glade tells me exasperatedly. "So Ian, what are your skills? What makes you stand out from your fellow tributes?"

I sigh, tugging at the sleeves on my suit. "I don't have a lot of skills," I say. "But I want to get home to my family. I know I'm one of the younger tributes, that everyone's going to count me out because of my age. But I—"

"Okay just… just stop. That's enough." He buries his face in his hands. "You _want_ sponsors, right? You're not trying to self-sabotage here?"

"Of course I do," I say quietly.

"Then don't sound so flat. You sound like you've rehearsed that a billion times."

"Isn't that what we've been doing for the past two hours?"

He gives a shaky sort of laugh. "Yes. And the idea behind _that_ is that you ideally won't sound like you're being force-fed some feel-good story that's going to get the sponsors fawning over you."

"Then what do you want me to say? What did _you_ say?"

Glade sighs. "I was honest. They like a show in the Capitol, but if you can't do it convincingly then you'd better settle on being honest. Just… say what you're feeling. Don't villainize them or anything, obviously, but you can be honest." 

I'm not entirely sure that they'll like that, but what else can I say? The innocent little kid angle doesn't seem to be working. And it's almost time for the interviews to start.

"Alright," I finally tell him. "Honest it is."

**Harriet Sabel, 18, District 5**

I check my dress one last time in front of the mirror. It's simple, falling to my knees, with black straps and a sweetheart neckline, paired with the lowest heels my stylist would allow. I don't look too different from how I usually do — they've curled my hair, applied a bit of makeup, but nowhere near the extent that I've seen tributes in the past. My stylist is a funny little man, mostly keeps to himself, and I didn't feel much like arguing. So the look I get is what I get.

Porter, my mentor, peeks her head through the door. "It's time."

I join Ian, my little district partner who looks almost comical in his outrageously fancy tuxedo, and we wait in line with the others. There are monitors everywhere, showing the stage from various angles backstage so we can see. I guess that's good — I'd rather be getting an idea of my competition's strategies than thinking about what they're going to ask me.

Charmeuse Devereaux is out first, in a low-hanging white silk dress and matching boots. I can't believe we're the same age. She's giggly and flouncy throughout the whole interview, glossing over any would-be serious questions in favor of bragging about her training score or her plans for the games. Caesar has to send her off in the middle of an anecdote about knives.

Lucient's next, in a gorgeous gold floral suit. He's better at the whole interview thing, getting serious enough at one point to talk about his parents and his brothers, but spends an inordinate amount of time flashing grins at the audience. I'm guessing it was his mentor's idea.

The tributes from 2 are matching. Antonia's first, in a floor-length cerulean gown and an odd sort of rolled-back hairdo. And Maxwell's got a velvety suit in the same shade of blue. They're both intimidating in a way that the tributes from 1 weren't — there's no forced giggling or grinning here. They're so alike that even after, I have trouble remembering who said what. I suppose that must be part of their strategy. Or maybe they figure that they're so good, they don't need one.

I vaguely remember seeing Patra Argent's skimpy robot costume from the chariot rides, and the sentiment is reflected here. Whoever her stylist is, they've clearly tried to age her up, in dark makeup, a low-cut periwinkle dress, and an elegant updo. Not that the look is bad; it's just that the minute she steps onstage you can tell that her personality is the exact opposite. She's so self-conscious that Caesar even has to ask her to speak up a few times.

Theodore Nebron is a bit better. He seems nervous at first, but then seems to ease into Caesar's questions, and they have this bit going on about the chariot costumes towards the end. Then we're onto 4 — the last district before ours. Cyrine Fleuve is, as usual, leagues above anyone else we've seen so far. Her dress is beautiful; a light aquamarine gown, crisscrossing over her chest with thin black ribbons that complement her dark curls. And as if that weren't bad enough, she's a natural onstage, slipping right into the witty banter that the Capitol seems to love, answering everything with just enough humor and humility. A Capitol darling for sure.

Then we're on to Terrent Cohen, the boy from 4, and the last one before I go on. He reminds me a bit of Theodore — same dark hair and blue eyes — but he's got on a casual white suit. Out of everyone we've seen from the Career districts so far, he's the least intimidating and the most tolerable. I soon learn why — he's not a Career at all. Not even in the alliance. It's not unheard of, but I'm still wondering why they've excluded him. He glosses over it when Caesar asks the obvious. Maybe he's just that bad of a fighter.

Caesar thanks Terrent, then they shake hands and it's suddenly my turn to go on. I stand from my seat and smooth out my dress.

"Good luck," Ian whispers from beside me. I smile back at him. "Thanks," I say. He's been the only person to wish me luck so far.

The stage lights are so blinding that I can't even make out the audience in front of me, which I'm starting to think is a good thing. There must be thousands of them out there, and for the next three minutes all they care about is what I have to say. Caesar gives me a welcoming smile as I take the seat across from him. He waits until the applause has died down before starting.

"Well, Harriet, it's certainly nice to see a familiar face tonight. Isn't it, folks?"

His question drums up more thunderous applause as I try to keep the smile plastered on my face. Of course they were going to drag that into my interview. Of course they were. I just didn't think it would be the first thing out of his mouth.

"Thank you, Caesar," I reply once the clapping has fizzled out. "It's great to be here."

"Now, we're going to get to all the good stuff later, of course — your training score, your experience in the capitol, those _fabulous_ chariot costumes — but I think it's only fitting that I ask what we've all been dying to know all night… What was your first reaction when they called your name out of that reaping bowl?"

"I just… I just couldn't believe it," I tell him. Technically, what I couldn't believe was that my name wasn't called _last_year. That they actually let me get away with escaping them once. "I really…um… really felt like I missed out, two years ago, because of the baby and all…"

I sort of trail off at the last sentence but Caesar, receptive as ever, picks right up where I left off. "And how is your little girl? Cora, isn't that her name?"

"Yes, that's right." It seems an absurd question, _how is she_. You've purposefully torn her mother away from her and she has no idea why, how do you think she feels? But of course, I can't say that, so I just say, "She's good. She's staying with my parents until I get home."

"Ah, 'until you get home'. So you're confident you can win?"

"Of course. I'm going to do whatever I have to to get home to her."

A series of _aww_'s emanates from various spots in the audience and I have to resist the urge to scream at them.

The rest of the interview is standard fare. He asks me about my training score, and I explain what I did with the bows, and my survival skills, and I try to make a joke out of my ineptitude with a sword. Caesar plays into all of it, of course, he's good at that kind of thing. When my three minutes are up, we both stand, and Caesar shakes my hand before yanking it into the air and announcing "Harriet Sabel, this year's female tribute from District 5!"

**Brion Clemence, 15, District 11**

"Did _you_ know she had a kid?" I ask Poppy as Harriet Sabel walks offstage and is replaced by her district partner.

Poppy looks at me incredulously. "Didn't you? It was pretty controversial."

"They really just let her go?"

Poppy gestures to Harriet, who's taken a seat a few chairs away from us. "Clearly not in the long run. But yeah, they did at the time I guess."

We settle into another uneasy silence as Ian's interview continues. He's not very good. The suit they've put him in looks too grown-up for his age, and all he seems to be able to talk about is how scared he is, no matter how hard Caesar tries to lift him up. I think we're all glad when Ian finally leaves and Leyla Vitrin, in an electric blue two-piece dress, comes onstage.

I like Leyla. She seems smart and level-headed, talking competently about her skills in the arena, but addressing her weaknesses logically as well. Apparently, she's got an alliance with the boy from 10.

Her district partner is a little more shy, though nowhere near as bad as Ian from 5. I guess it must be pretty awful being so close to the young end of the age spectrum. Still, I think the audience seems to like him. He mostly tries to evade questions about skills and scores, instead focusing on his family back home, which is always a hit with the Capitol.

We're brought back to another delightful reminder of the Careers with Everly Foille. When she starts going on and on about her experience with axes, Poppy interrupts the silence backstage with a sort of shaky laugh.

"God, I cannot _stand_ her," she whispers to me.

Personally, I find Everly to be a bit intimidating. But I don't tell her that. Instead, I say, "Yeah. I mean, does she think she's the first tribute from 7 to ever throw an axe around?"

Apparently, she does. When she finally stops talking about her skills and her ability to win, she starts going on about the Capitol instead, an obvious attempt to appeal to the audience. Caesar only seems to encourage this, at one point asking her to stand up and show everyone her floral gown, so then we're subjected to about a minute of twirling and laughing in what I'd consider a very cheap imitation of Charmeuse's interview.

So far, Marcel's interview is the most entertaining. Right off the bat he attacks Everly, calling her stupid for volunteering, even going as far as to point out the weaknesses in her axe-wielding. If the audience wasn't constantly laughing at his contstant jabs, the ones at Everly, his mentors, and even the Career alliance that he's a part of, I'd actually be worried for him. We've all seen how things go down in the arena for tributes who cause too much of a ruckus in their interviews.

Neria Houndstooth seems scared at the beginning. Not that I blame her. But then she gets a little more in depth, talking about her training, why she didn't do as good as she could've done, why she's a serious contender in the games, and even throws in a bit about her sick grandmother. She's good.

Chase Beaumont's interview is actually a little uplifting. He seems pretty downtrodden about his bad score, but Caesar tries to talk him out of it and I think actually raises his spirits. I don't know how much that's going to help Chase in the arena, but at least it seems to help him now.

I remember Viveca from 9 from training. She was nice enough, but here she's rigid, almost robotic. From what I can tell, her mentors tried to get her to go with a "mysterious" angle, but like so many of the others I've seen tonight, it's not really working. Fabian DuPan, on the other hand, is a natural. Even though he's a bit younger, he seems to have found his place onstage. I don't even think his 5 from training is going to matter — the sponsors will love him.

The girl from 10, Jessianne, hides behind her blonde curls the entire time. She looks like a fairy in the glittery blue dress they've given her. She's very shy throughout the whole thing, and I can't tell if it's on purpose or if that's just how she is. Maybe it's good for her that I can't tell, because if it is a strategy, it's working.

But Jessianne is nothing compared to her district partner, Braden. Even Poppy gives a little gasp when he comes onstage, hair slicked back, in a simple black shirt and blue-trimmed white pants. He's easily the best looking out of all of us. And as if that weren't bad enough, his interview goes wonderfully. Another sponsor thief.

Poppy stands up when Braden finally exits the stage, and for a moment I think she's going to personally congratulate him, before I realized that the interviews have reached our district. 

**Poppy Moringer, 17, District 11**

My gold gown swishes around my ankles as I step onstage. For a moment, I consider faking a trip — as if my hunched posture and lack of eye contact with the audience weren't enough. Then I decide against it. This act requires a certain level of believability, and if I play up the weak side too much, there's a good chance the others will figure me out before we get into the arena.

I sit in the chair across from Caesar, who's trying to quell the audience's applause so we can get on with the interview. Finally, they die down, and he turns his attention to me.

"You're looking lovely tonight, Poppy."

I smile quickly at him. "I… thank you." And then, for extra emphasis. "You look… you look good too."

It comes out awkward and insincere. Perfect.

Caesar, however, only laughs. "Believe me, I'm not too sure about it either. Red? In Winter? To be quite honest with you, I'm not sure _what_ my stylists were thinking." The crowd has a good laugh with this, and all I can do is smile half-heartedly.

"Not at all like that gorgeous gown of yours. Any special inspiration on your stylist's part?"

"Oh… um…" I try to look pensive for a few seconds. "No. Not that I know of. I think she just liked the color."

This is, of course, completely untrue, and I can practically hear Lavinia yelling at me for besmirching her work. The dress is designed to look like the sunset streaming through the orchard trees during summer. It's beautiful, and she's captured it perfectly, but I can't afford to praise her. The more they think I'm disconnected, the more of a shock it'll be when they see what I can do.

We talk about 11 a bit next. I feel like one of those tributes that freezes up onstage, with whom Caesar has to take an extra step of crafting questions to draw them out of their shell. Except, for them, I think they want the help. I try to deflect as much as possible any and all questions about my life, my family. That is, until we get to training.

Caesar's voice takes on a more serious note. "So, I think it's finally time we talked about that elephant in the room. A 2 in training. What went wrong?"

I push a strand of hair behind my ear. "I think it's just that… well… I'm just not very good. I haven't picked up any skills. We never got a chance to use anything that might help in the games back home."

"But surely there are other skills you might have. You told me you worked in an orchard. Perhaps climbing? Other survival skills that may give you an extra edge?"

"No. I was never any good at climbing trees, so I did all the work in the orchard on the ground." He doesn't seem completely satisfied with that, so I add on "Maybe I'll be good with… y'know, food identification? I was always pretty good at that back in eleven."

"Well then, there you go!"

It's laughable that Caesar tries to pass off my proficiency at food identification as a legitimately helpful skill in the games, but the audience doesn't seem to mind. The rest of the interview, I shrivel back into my shell, answering with a "yes" or a "no" or a simple nod.

By the time Caesar takes my hand and announces my name to the crowd, I get my first full glimpse of my spectators. I've underwhelmed them. Perfect. Because tomorrow, I'm in the arena. And they're going to get the surprise of their lives.


	7. Chapter 7: The Bloodbath

**Braden Cadsmith, 17, District 10**

"Ten minutes."

The voice that rings out across the stockyard is cool, exactly the opposite of how I'm feeling right now. I was right, completely right. The reality of these games are starting to hit me now, at the worst possible moment.

I turn to my stylist, who's scribbling away at something in her sketchbook. Wonderful. Not that she's ever shown an ounce of emotion towards me. Still, she's the last person I could be seeing before I go into the arena, so something would be nice.

I down the last of my water, then toss the cup aside. Taking slow, deep breaths, I try to keep myself from throwing up or passing out or both, and instead try to conjure Leyla's face in my head. We became allies two days into training, and I don't think I've ever been more grateful for it than I am right now. That's one more person I have on my side, one less person trying to kill me.

From her chair, my stylist clicks her pen as the metallic voice announces that there are two minutes left. "Alright. Time to load up."

My instinct, suddenly, is to run. To push my way past anyone and anything that gets in the way of putting several hundred miles between myself and this arena. But there's nowhere to run. So I keep breathing — in through the nose, out through the mouth — because it's pretty much the only thing I can do to keep myself conscious.

I step onto the metal platform while my stylist looks on, bored. We stand, silent except for my rhythmic breathing, until it's announced that I have a minute left and the tube begins to close around me.

Finally, she speaks. "Good luck in there. You've got a chance, you know. I've seen hundreds of kids go in there. You've got a chance."

Easy for her to say, standing out there.

"Thank you."

She gives me a half-hearted smile as the plate begins to ascend.

**Charmeuse Devereaux, 18, District 1**

For the first few seconds, the arena is so bright that my eyes have to adjust before I can take it in.

And then, I see it. The cornucopia, several yards away, glinting gold in the sun. The others spread out around it. Maxwell is to my left, and Patra from 3 to my right.

The arena, though, is like something I've never seen before, at least not in any of the games I've watched. Usually, tributes are lifted into a natural space, something with trees, maybe a desert. Not here.

We're in a town.

Granted, it's not like any town I've ever seen. The clearing for the cornucopia leaves the buildings unnaturally spaced apart. And as far as I can tell, there's nothing inside them, at least not from my perspective. In the distance, I can tell we're surrounded by trees, some of which seem to lie on a hill, but the town shelters us from any other knowledge of our surroundings.

10…

I turn my attention to the cornucopia now, scouting out what might be inside. Swords, certainly there are a few of those. That'll be good for me and the others.

9…

8…

7…

Beside me, Maxwell kneels down, ready to dash forward. Patra does the same.

6…

5…

4…

I prepare myself, focusing on the center of the cornucopia, determined to get there first. Not that I'll have any trouble in the bloodbath, but it'll sure look good.

3.

2.

1.

The gong sounds, and I dash forward. From the corner of my eye, I watch Maxwell spring forward too.

I reach the cornucopia second only to Cyrine, who snatches up a machete before I even make it to the mouth. Beside me, Chase from 8 skids to a halt, most likely realizing that coming straight to the mouth of the cornucopia was a bad idea. Too late. Cyrine cuts through him almost effortlessly, and claims the first kill of the games. Of course she does.

Not wanting to look useless, I grab a nearby sword and hold it up, ready to kill as eagerly as Cyrine just did. Beside me, Lucient does the same for a split second, opting for a spear that he wields before spinning around and driving it straight through Tessa Edmond. She gives a little sputtering sound as he pulls the sword out, then falls stiffly to the ground. Great. Two kills in, and I'm standing here doing nothing.

Well, I'm going to do something. Leaving Cyrine and Lucient to take out whomever they like, I dash forward again, setting my sights on the weaker tributes who have decided to cautiously pick up some items from the outer reaches of the cornucopia. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Terrent dart into a nearby building with a green backpack, and further down, Leyla sprinting down the middle of the road. Fine. Let them go for now.

And then there she is. Back to me, kneeling over a backpack, hands working furtively, Poppy doesn't even see me as I run up behind her, sword raised. I think of her silent tears at the reaping and her dismal training score. It almost seems unfair to take her out so soon.

Suddenly, she whirls around, eyes flashing, and I realize that it wasn't a backpack she was kneeling over — it was a pack of throwing knives. For a millisecond, I pause, taken aback by her quick reaction to me.

I don't even see the knife leave her hand until it buries itself in my chest.

**Marcel Arbrous, 17, District 7**

My axe hits Theodore squarely in the back, taking him down from nearly three yards away. As I rush forward to retrieve my weapon and the backpack that Theodore managed to grab, I hear Lucient let out a guttural roar and turn just in time to see Charmeuse collapse.

He takes the spear and aims it towards who I think is Poppy Moringer, but in what I guess must be immeasurable rage, he misses, and the spear hits the side of a building as it's intended target slips into an alley. Lucient yells again, whirling on his heel and lifting a large sword from the ground. From my spot behind the cornucopia, I crouch further down. My alliance with the Careers is still shaky at best, and I do _not_ want to be at the receiving end of Lucient's wrath.

Fortunately for me, Patra Argent is his unlucky choice. She's scrambling to get away with two backpacks when Lucient approaches and takes her out from behind. Both tributes from 3 gone already.

Axe in one hand, Theodore's backpack in the other, I finally stand to get a good look at the fighting. Most of the weaker tributes cleared out immediately, but there are a few still left over, engaged in combat with my allies. I watch August, who's wielding an axe rather impressively, try to get a few blows in at Antonia before deciding against it and snaking off between buildings. A few feet away from me, Everly slashes an axe across Ian Solrus' chest, looking quite pleased with herself as he falls.

**August Brimstone, 18, District 12**

I collapse against the side of a building, out of breath. I don't think Antonia followed me, but even if she had, I don't have much of a choice. I can't keep running. I have to rest.

Still breathing heavily, I decide to get a feel for the things I picked up. It's quite a bit more than I thought it would be, actually. The backpack I grabbed is small, but there's an apple inside, along with a roll of bandages and a belt with a knife sheath. Not much good for the axe that I managed to get ahold of, but still, not bad.

For a few more minutes, I rest, scrunching up my legs against the side of the building to keep myself as hidden as possible. The cannons begin just as I start to stand again. I count seven. Charmeuse, for sure, because I saw everything go down after her death. I remember seeing Chase die while I was still on my plate. And Tessa too. I feel a sudden wave of sadness thinking of her. We didn't speak much, but she _was_ my district partner.

I don't know the others, though. Doesn't matter. We'll all find out tonight anyways.

**Viveca Lordsmith, 16, District 9**

Fabian and I both jump as the cannons begin to sound. We pause, silently counting each one.

"Wow. Seventeen of us left, I guess," he says once the cannons stop. I mumble something in agreement.

We both ran for a side street when the gong sounded. I don't think either of us planned on having any allies, but it just sort of… happened. Neither of us had any weapons when we left the cornucopia — neither of us had anything, actually — so there wasn't really much of anything we could've done anyways. I don't think we'd be allies though, if he hadn't saved me. We were side by side when Fabian suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled us both into a building. I remember shaking, thinking I'd been wrong, that he did have a weapon and that this was the end. But he only held his hand over my mouth and pointed outside, where I could see that we'd narrowly missed Lucient Rever, sword in hand. Brion Clemence, the boy from 11 who looked too young from his age, was not as lucky. So we missed the bloodbath, but at least we know who one of the cannons was.

And now we're walking. Staying close to the buildings, peeking around corners before turning down streets. The town goes on for much longer than I thought it would, but eventually we reach the treeline. We're about to step into the trees before I stop.

"Wait." Fabian looks at me, confused, before I continue. "Maybe we shouldn't leave the town yet. We have literally nothing. We could stay back and wait for the cornucopia to clear out, there's got to be something left over."

"No. No way. The Careers are probably still there. We can come back later if we absolutely have to," he replies.

"You might not wanna stand out in the open. They're still hunting, you know."

We both whirl around at the voice, throwing up our hands as if that's going to help. But Terrent doesn't look interested in hurting us. He has a backpack over one shoulder, but his hands are empty.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you guys. I barely made it away from them myself."

"Do you have any extra supplies?" I ask. Might as well, if we're not going back to the cornucopia.

He chuckles. "Yeah, I mean, I don't know if I'd call them _extra_. But we can share. There's a pack of fruit in here, and two sleeping bags."

It takes both of us a second to figure out what he's saying. "So… you want an alliance?" Fabian asks.

Terrent nods. "It's gonna help all of us in the long run, right? And between the three of us, we don't have any weapons. We'll last longer together."

I'm skeptical. Before I got into the arena, I'd planned on going in with no allies. And now suddenly, within the scope of what, 20 minutes, I've already got two. But Terrent brings up a good point — we _will_ be stronger together. So right after Fabian agrees, I nod too.

"Great," he says. "I'll lead the way."

He strides forward, ahead of Fabian and I, who exchange one last look before following Terrent into the woods.


	8. Chapter 8: The First Night

**Leyla Vitrin, 17, District 6**

"It's starting!" I nudge Braden awake as the Capitol anthem begins, and we both turn to the sky just in time to see Charmeuse Devereaux's face. I audibly gasp, but Braden just laughs.

"Man, I bet _that_ was tough for them. How d'you think someone managed to take her out?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe she wasn't as good as we thought."

Charmeuse is followed by Theodore and then Patra, meaning that both Maxwell and Antonia survived. Which is to be expected. Both from 3 gone, though. Next is Ian Solrus, though I don't think that's surprising at all, then Chase from 8. Looks like quite a few of the younger tributes are gone already. After Chase is Brion from 11, then it ends with Tessa from 12. It's pretty much what I expected from the bloodbath — except for Charmeuse, of course.

"Huh. So both our district partners survived," is the first thing Braden says after Tessa's face fades from the sky. Oh. That's right.

"I can't believe Quentin made it out," I respond.

"Isn't he, like, thirteen?" Braden asks. When I nod, he grimaces. "Yeah. I can't believe it either."

We're at the very edge of the woods, a few yards away from the nearest building. From what I can tell when I've gone to scale a nearby tree a few times over the past few hours, the Careers have set up shop in the heart of town. I doubt we'll be headed in there for a while, but seeing as we don't know what's in the woods, Braden and I agreed that it would be best to stay right between the two, at least for tonight.

"So… I think tomorrow we should get a bit further from the Careers," he says. "We need to find food, anyways, and it's not like it's incredibly difficult to find us here."

"Okay," I say. "We should try to get to higher ground. Get a better idea of what's in the arena." Braden agrees.

He takes first watch, perched on the edge of the treeline, while I settle into our one sleeping bag behind a tree, and slowly drift off into a light sleep.

**Antonia Clearve, 18, District 2**

From her perch on top of the cornucopia, Everly tosses me an empty bottle.

"Can you go fill that up?"

She's a good fighter. I keep telling myself that, over and over again, because it's the only thing keeping me from burying a knife in her head.

"Can't you do it?"

Lucient, who's barely spoken to us since Charmeuse died, turns around and shoots me a look. "Do it, Antonia. We need water anyways."

We don't, actually, because we've got a full stock from the cornucopia and from a pack Max found in one of the buildings, but I don't argue. Silently, I take the bottle and a few throwing knives, and trudge down one of the alleys until I reach the bridge. We haven't gone past it yet — there hasn't been a need to — but I can see that it leads to a park and eventually, the forest that surrounds us. Below it runs a shallow stream, which is where I go to fill the bottle.

I sit underneath the bridge, digging my heels into the mud, and run the bottle through the gentle flow. It's about halfway full when I hear the scream.

Jumping up, I leave the bottle in the shallows and crawl up the bank onto the bridge. It's a boy, probably one of the older ones from the sound of his voice. For the first time I cross the bridge, headed towards the source of the noise. A scream means someone's being attacked, which means that whoever the attacker is, they're going to be my next kill.

I dash through the park, knife gripped in my hand, past well-groomed hedges and flowers and bushes. I still can't see the source of the scream, though, until I round the corner of the park's enormous fountain pool and come face to face with Harriet Sabel.

One hand holds a knife, a larger one not meant for throwing, that slips from her hand in shock as our eyes meet. The other is wrapped around August Brimstone's neck, right above the thin red line she's slashed across it. She released him and he falls, choking, into the water. A cannon sounds a few seconds later. Instinctively, I raise the knife, ready to send it flying at her. She doesn't even try to run, only stares at me as if she's been frozen in time.

I don't know why I do what I do next. If Lucient were here, I'm sure he'd snap my neck with his bare hands for doing it. But I bring the knife down slowly, letting my hand come to rest at my side. I'm suddenly hit with an image from the reaping, a close-up shot on a little girl in the audience with the same green eyes that are currently staring at me.

Harriet and I stand there, both frozen, both waiting for the other to do something, until she suddenly grabs her fallen knife from the fountain and sprints off in the opposite direction.

For a second I wait, breathing heavily, barely able to believe that I just let her go when I could've taken her out so easily. We can't both make it out of here, no matter how bad it might look for me if I kill a tribute who's based so much of her identity on getting home to her daughter. I tell myself that I'll do it next time.

When I return to the cornucopia with my now-filled bottle, the others flock to me, asking what was taking so long, if that cannon was my doing.

"Of course it was," I lie. "Had to finish off August from the bloodbath."

**Quentin Casel, 13, District 6**

I've been walking for hours.

I remember pausing once, to look at the sky and see who died today, but apart from that it's been endless movement. I was lucky. Most tributes my age end up dying in the bloodbath, but I managed to get a backpack and an empty bottle before running off. Other than that, though, I'm kind of lost. And tired too. I don't have a strategy, and since I've left the town behind there hasn't been much scenery to show me where I am, so I just keep walking.

The trees keep getting darker and darker, to the point where I can't even see where I'm stepping. I know it'd probably be safer overall to stop right now, to get some rest, but I also figure it's probably a bad idea to stop unarmed in an area I can't even see. So I keep working slowly, feeling my way around the thick trunks and dense leaves, until suddenly, I break through.

The clearing I stumble into is illuminated by the stars, a perfect circle in the patch of trees. In the middle sits a house. More of a cottage, really. It doesn't look very big, but at this point I'm so exhausted, I don't really care. Any excuse to sleep. And besides, it'll offer me some protection.

I creak open the door slowly, hoping that there's no sudden trap by the gamemakers, or worse, another tribute already here. But apart from a desolate fireplace, a table, and a stiff-looking couch, the cottage is empty. I go straight to the couch, stretching out onto the rough fabric, staring up at the wooden ceiling. If someone came in right now, I'm sure they could kill me effortlessly, but at this point, I don't care. Within the next few minutes, I'm asleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Day Two

**A/N:**** Here's our second day, and a little bit of our second night! I'm really appreciating the views and the nice reviews you guys have left. Hope you're all enjoying the story now that we've gotten to the actual games.**

**Jessianne Holsten, 16, District 10**

At sunrise, I take to the ground again. Was staying in the town a wise choice? Probably not. But the building I was in at least kept me protected. And besides, it's at the edge of town. If the Careers managed to find me, I wouldn't have far to run until I could disappear into the woods.

I decide that scavenging is probably the best idea. There's got to be _something_ in these buildings. Or so I think. The ones at the furthest reaches of town are essentially abandoned, not even anything lying around that could pass for a weapon. No food, either. I'm still a few streets down from where the cornucopia is, so I figure that the better stuff must be near there. And since I'm not dumb enough to walk straight into a camp full of Careers, it looks like I'm gonna have to go without supplies for now.

I do stay in the town, though, since it's more familiar to me than I know the forest will be. Keeping close to the buildings, going door to door in case I need to hide right away. I stay to the back streets, mostly, but when it becomes pretty clear that I'm the only one still here, I start to move closer to the center. No, I'm not going to attack the Careers, or even get near them, but I am going to try and get a feel for how they're set up.

I'm close enough to see the tip of the cornucopia through the alleyways when the first knife hits.

Not me, of course, but it might as well be. It's buried in a pole a few inches away from my head. I don't even check to see who threw it — I have a feeling whoever it is won't miss next time.

There's a split second to decide whether I should run into the nearest building or head for the woods, and in that split-second my attacker throws their next knife. It would've hit me dead on if I didn't hear it coming and roll out of the way.

Forest it is.

I break away from the side of the building, first sprinting straight down the street. About halfway down I remember some vague comment made during training, then start running in a zigzag pattern. Even when I turn down another street and I'm sure whoever is throwing the knives is out of range, I keep running and I don't stop until I break through the treeline.

**Poppy Moringer, 17, District 11**

I don't have time to be angry at myself for missing her with the second knife. Jessianne's already gone, run down some side street, and there's no way I could hit her at the speed she was going anyways. Instead, I stand from my hiding spot on top of the building, shooting a quick look to the Career's camp before moving. None of them are even looking in my direction. Satisfied, I begin my descent from the building. I slide down easily, aided by the jutting bricks and windowsills, until I'm on the ground.

I didn't intend for my strategy to be exposed so early in the games, but I suppose that killing Charmeuse showed everyone what I could do. The audience, at least. I'm banking on the fact that maybe the Careers thought it was a fluke kill, that I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe it's not the most original strategy, but I've definitely seen it work in past games.

The knives are easy to collect — one in the pole, the other on the ground — then I head back up to my hiding spot. I may have missed Jessianne, but I'm betting she won't be the last one to come through here. And next time, I'm not going to miss.

**Quentin Casel, 13, District 6**

I can't say that I slept well, but at least I slept. I wake up in the cottage, huddled up on the couch with my backpack under my head. So nothing happened during the night, I guess.

Sitting up from the couch, I move one hand to the back of my neck, massaging the stiff muscles. And that's when I see the bow. Lying on the lone table, next to a sheath full of arrows.

The girl from 8 is sitting right behind them.

I shoot up, pulling my backpack towards me defensively. Not that that's going to help. But the girl doesn't react defensively, doesn't train the bow on me.

"If I wanted to kill you, don't you think I would've done it already? You've been asleep for hours."

She does have a point.

"Uh… so why didn't you?" It sounds stupid the minute it leaves my mouth, but I'm so shocked by seeing her there that it's the first thing that comes out.

"I just… I don't know," she says. "You weren't armed. And I… I guess I thought we could help each other?" She gestures to the bow. "I got this thing at the cornucopia but I barely know how to use it."

I nod. "Yeah. Sure."

We set about exploring the cottage a little more. It's easier to see in the light. I'm still a little suspicious of it — why would the gamemakers give us such a good shelter without any catch? But after about a half-hour of poking around, Neria and I don't find anything out of the ordinary. There's a garden in the back of the house that I didn't see the night before, and most of the plants we both recognize from training, so we make a nice little lunch out of the ones we know for sure are edible.

By the time the sun begins to set, I'm uneasy. It's been an oddly quiet day, apart from the initial scare I had seeing Neria in the house. We're sitting near the front door, guarding the windows, when she stands up.

"I think we should start a fire or something. I mean, there's a fireplace, right? And it's getting cold."

I frown slightly. "Won't the others see the smoke?"

"They might. But we're super far from the cornucopia. And it's getting dark, anyways. The smoke'll be harder to see."

I'm not completely convinced, but I agree anyways. She goes off into the woods, and it doesn't take long for her to return with a pile of sticks. I hold onto the bow the whole time she's gone, even though I don't know the first thing about using it. Luckily, fire-starting was one of the things we both focused on in training, so we're able to get one started fairly quickly. Then we sit around the fire in silence, backs up against the couch, eating the rest of the berries from the garden.

"Fire's not working too well," Neria says finally. I turn to her, confused, because the fire's keeping me perfectly warm. She's shivering.

"Are you… are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just cold."

"Neria… it's not cold. At all. We're a foot away from the fireplace."

Her teeth are chattering now, and I know something's really wrong. A gamemaker trap? Something in the cottage? As she wraps her arms around herself I search wildly for the source of the cold.

My eyes land on the berries.

They're leftover in her pile, a bumpy red sort of berry that I suddenly realize wasn't in the garden.

"Where'd you get these?" I ask, lifting one into the air and twirling it between my fingers. In the firelight, I see the purple tinge that I missed before, and gasp as my fears are confirmed. I remember these distinctly from training.

"T-They're raspberries. We have them… we have them in Eight."

"No." I shake my head. "No, these are called Winterberries. They taught us about them in the training center, remember?"

The skin on her arms is beginning to change, taking on a light blue tinge that slowly begins to crawl up towards her face. The shaking has stopped, but its even worse now — she's completely still. The only way I know she's still breathing is her eyes, darting back and forth, and the fact that no cannon has sounded yet.

"Maybe…" I look around wildly, as if there's going to be something that can help. "Try to throw them up." I see her jaw twitch, as if she's trying to reply, but the blue is crawling up her face now and I don't think she can speak. There's nothing I can do but watch as the color overtakes her face and the life drains from her eyes.

The cannon sounds a few seconds later.

**Lucient Rever, 18, District 1**

We all glance at each other when the cannon sounds. Everly's the first one to speak.

"Ugh, _two_ deaths? That's it? This whole day all we've got is two deaths? And only one of them is our doing. So boring."

I'm starting to regret letting her into the alliance. Sure, she's good with an axe, and alright yeah, she took out the kid from 5, but she's done nothing but whine since then. Part of me wishes it was her and not Charmeuse who got killed in the bloodbath.

Max scoffs. "Well, it's not like you've been much help. What'd you do, kill the youngest tribute here? In the bloodbath? Real helpful. Yeah, you're just racking up the kills."

"At least I've killed someone."

Max stands up from his spot in the cornucopia. Better put a stop to this before we lose another member of our already shaky alliance.

"You want a more exciting game, Everly?" I say. "Fine. Go out and hunt someone down."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't respond. I think she's a little scared of me. Good. I decide to push more.

"No, I mean it. You think we're such bad tributes? Take that axe of yours and go put another face in the sky."

"Okay. Fine. The game's fine, we're all fine. Happy?"

"No." I should let it go, but since Charmeuse's death I haven't felt in the mood to put up with them. And I figure a little inter-tribute conflict will play well with the audience. "Go out. Kill someone." Then, for extra emphasis. "And if by tomorrow night you haven't made these games as exciting as you seem to so desperately want them to be? I guess it'll have to be your face in the sky."

Nobody says anything for a minute, then Everly grabs her axe, slings it over one shoulder, and shoots me one last withering look before stalking off down the road.


	10. Chapter 10: Day Three

**A/N: ****Here's Day Three! We've seen everyone at least once in the arena now, so I'm going to start keeping track of all the tributes at the end every couple chapters, just for a recap. Enjoy!**

**Terrent Cohen, 16, District 4**

I wake up Fabian and Viveca at the break of dawn. Truth be told, we didn't get as far as I'd like to have gotten yesterday, so I'd like to get moving now.

"Who was it?" Viveca asks me after she's rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "In the sky, I mean. I fell asleep before I could see."

"Neria from Eight," I say, slinging my backpack over one shoulder, "And August from Twelve."

"Oh."

Once Fabian's rolled up the sleeping bag and packed it into my backpack, we circle up as I announce what I've planned for the day. I guess I'm kind of the group leader. Neither of them seem particularly up to it.

"So I'm thinking that we split up, get some food before we go any further into the woods." As much as I'd like to get going now, we won't make it far without food and water, neither of which we currently have.

"I'll stay back," Viveca offers.

"You know that means you can't sleep, right?"

She grins. "Yeah... I know. Maybe just a little though?"

"Fine, fine. Take a nap, Fabian and I will go see if we can find anything."

Viveca smiles at me again, then sits back down under the tree where we camped out, while Fabian and I set off in a direction parallel to the treeline.

"I was thinking we should look for a water source first," he says as we walk. "We need water. And also, you guys do a lot of fishing in Four, right?"

I nod. "Yeah. If I'd gotten my hands on a trident I'd probably have stayed much longer in the bloodbath."

"So there we go. It's a food source and a water source."

"Yeah. If there's any fish in the arena." Usually there are, but I've seen games where the gamemakers limit food to one specific area of the arena just to spice things up. And this arena is already so unusual, so it wouldn't surprise me.

"I've always wondered what it's like there. I mean, in Nine, we've got a lake and stuff, but nothing like the ocean."

"It's nice. My dad's a fisherman, so me and my brother spend a lot of time out on the water."

"Wow. And you guys still have time to train and stuff?"

"Train for what?"

"You know… the games."

"Some of us do," I say. "Like Cyrine. Not me, though. That's why I'm not with them."

"Oh. Is that why nobody volunteered for you?" Fabian asks.

I'm not sure if it's supposed to come across that… blunt, but it sure does.

"Kind of. I guess. They don't… ah… they don't really like me. The guys at the training academy, I mean."

"You seem alright to me."

I laugh. "Thanks. It's this one guy, actually… Oberlin. He's always hated me. The rest of them pretty much do what he says. I guess they he'd rather see me die than actually give the games a tribute with a chance of winning." There. See how everyone back home takes that one.

Fabian opens his mouth to reply, but I suddenly throw out my hand to stop him. In front of us, barely visible, is a stream.

"There's our water source," I say, grinning.

We decide to follow it downhill, since it's more likely there'll be some kind of pool at the end. And even if there isn't, it's a good way to mark our path. See where we've been going. Fabian takes the lead, guiding us through the thick branches, while I keep an eye on the water, scanning the ripples for any small fish.

Then, Fabian gives a sudden gasp. My head whips up just in time to see him fall, an axe hilt-deep in his thigh, as I come face to face with Everly. She's already started towards Fabian to retrieve her weapon.

A cannon hasn't gone off — of course it hasn't. The axe only hit his leg. But I'm unarmed. What else can I do? I'm gone, sprinting off back uphill, before she even reaches him.

**Viveca Lordsmith, 16, District 9**

The cannon sounds, waking me up from my light sleep. Immediately, I panic, my thoughts turning to Terrent or Fabian. Only one cannon, of course, but that doesn't mean the other isn't injured. I tell myself not to worry, that it could've been anyone in the arena. Still, I'm definitely awake now. I stand up, alert, watching my surroundings from under the tree.

It's about fifteen minutes later when I see a figure stumble through the brush.

I can tell that he's injured immediately. Fabian's blonde curls are plastered to his head, eyes staring ahead, completely dilated. He's walking wrong too, and I realize, with a gasp, that his left leg has a huge gash in it.

"Fabian! What happened?"

He doesn't answer, just keeps stumbling towards me. Seconds later, Terrent breaks through the brush behind him. Disheveled, panting, but uninjured as far as I can tell. He stares at Fabian and I in shock.

"Get over here!" I shout at Terrent, as he continues to stand there. "He's hurt. Get the backpack, maybe there's something in there. We need to wrap up his leg."

Terrent opens his mouth. "That's… Viveca that's not him! That's not Fabian. The cannon…"

Confused, I stare at Terrent for a second, then turn back to Fabian and freeze.

His eyes aren't dilated. They're pitch black.

A chill runs up my spine as I begin to back away slowly, barely hearing Terrent's shouts from behind. It's too late. The thing that looks like Fabian reaches forward, suddenly much more in control, and sinks its teeth into my shoulder.

**Braden Cadsmith, 17, District 10**

"Wow. Two cannons. You think they finished each other off?"

I pause my chewing for a second to think before I swallow the meat. "Nah. Too far apart. My bet's the Careers took out an alliance or something."

Leyla nods. "Yeah. You think it's either of ours?"

"Our what?"

"District partners. Quentin. Or Jessianne."

"Could be. But they're so close together that it's probably two people who were together. Why d'you keep asking about them, anyways?"

She frowns at me. "I don't."

"You kinda do, yeah. Like when we first met up and we saw the dead tributes in the sky, you asked about them. And then later, when we were practicing with the knives and you kept talking about Quentin's training."

"Oh." She looks away from me, quiet for a moment before she continues. "I don't know. I guess it's really Quentin that I'm worried about, you know?"

"Don't be," I tell her. "Jessianne's nice. I mean, I knew her back home a little bit too. But you gotta worry about yourself first."

"I know that. I just… he's 13. I remember when I was 13, I couldn't have handled being in the games. And he's such a nice kid too. I feel bad."

"That he's in the games?"

"Yeah. And that I didn't offer him an alliance or anything. Isn't that something you're supposed to do? Ally with your district partner?"

"Sure," I say, smiling a little. "But you've got me."

**Harriet Sabel, 18, District 5**

This time, the knife actually hits the tree. Kind of. Okay, it bounces off the tree. But I'm counting it as a win.

I don't know what I'm doing. They told us specifically which knives are meant to be thrown, which one's aren't. And the one I managed to get from the cornucopia is certainly of the non-throwing variety. Plus it's the only one I have, so if I end up throwing it, that's it.

I'm still reeling from yesterday. Killing August wasn't hard. It should've been, but all I could think about was Cora and getting home to her. But the fact that Antonia let me go? I can't figure if it's some kind of strategy on the part of the Careers, or if seeing me just threw her for a loop. Whatever it was, I'm still here, and I'm thankful for that. It's also why I've started practicing more with the knife.

I'm going to do whatever it takes to win these games. I escaped them once, I can do it again. So I keep tossing the knife at the tree hoping to get a feel for how it flies, because the next tribute that pauses before killing me like Antonia did is getting this knife hurled into their head.

**Maxwell Eden, 18, District 2**

By the time the Capitol anthem starts up in the sky, most of our team is asleep. We determined earlier today that a lot of the buildings are safe to go into. So now we've set up shop in one of the ones nearest to the cornucopia. It's pretty nice, actually. There's beds and stuff, and some old furniture lying around, though nothing really coherently placed together. Still, it's nice to have somewhere to rest other than the inside of the horn. Antonia and Marcel have taken the beds for now, while Lucient, Cyrine, and I wait on the roof for Everly to come back.

"You think that was Everly?" Cyrine asks after the faces of the tributes from 9 fade from the sky.

I shrug. "Could be. She's probably gonna take credit for them even if it wasn't her though."

Lucient scoffs. "I should've just killed her."

"Shouldn't have let her in the alliance in the first place," Cyrine mumbles.

I can't help but agree. I mean, yeah, we're short one strong tribute because of Charmeuse, but we'd still be fine without Everly. We'd probably be fine just the three of us on this roof.

"So why are we keeping her around?" I ask finally. It's what we're all thinking.

"Is 'axes' a good enough answer?" Cyrine says with a laugh.

"No, really. We'd be fine without her. And yeah, she's good with axes, but so's Marcel, and he's like ten times less annoying."

"Do we really want her as an enemy, though?" Lucient points out. "She knows where we are. She knows how we fight."

"Well we wouldn't just let her go, idiot," Cyrine says, grinning. I can tell she's starting to get on board with it.

Lucient sighs again. "Okay, yeah, clearly we wouldn't try to. But like you guys were saying, she's good when it comes down to it. She may very well manage to escape."

Cyrine and I both look at each other, as if we're thinking the same thing.

"We'll make sure she doesn't," I tell him.

**Here's that recap:**

_**District 1: Lucient (3 kills) - in the building by the cornucopia with the Careers; Charmeuse - killed by Poppy in the bloodbath**_

_**District 2: Maxwell and Antonia - in the building by the cornucopia with the Careers**_

_**District 3: Theodore - killed by Marcel in the bloodbath; Patra - killed by Lucient in the bloodbath**_

_**District 4: Terrent - in the woods by himself; Cyrine (1 kill) - in the building by the cornucopia with the Careers**_

_**District 5: Ian - killed by Everly in the bloodbath; Harriet (1 kill) - practicing with her knife in the woods**_

_**District 6: Quentin - camped out in the cottage by himself; Leyla - near the town with Braden**_

_**District 7: Marcel (1 kill) - in the building by the cornucopia with the Careers; Everly (2 kills) - on her way back to the town**_

_**District 8: Chase - killed by Cyrine in the bloodbath; Neria - died in the cottage after accidentally eating Winterberries**_

_**District 9: Fabian - killed by Everly in the woods; Viveca - killed by a mutt designed to look like a reanimated Fabian**_

_**District 10: Braden - near the town with Leyla; Jessianne - somewhere in the woods**_

_**District 11: Brion - killed by Lucient in the bloodbath; Poppy (1 kill) - hunting tributes in the outer streets of the town**_

_**District 12: August - killed by Harriet; Tessa - killed by Lucient in the bloodbath**_


End file.
